


The World Spun Around Her

by TalesOfErynGalen



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Character as Dragonborn, Deviates From Canon, Gen, I Felt Bad for Her Family Okay, Lilija Snow-Shod as Dragonborn, No pairings yet - Freeform, So I'm fixing it, Systematic Destruction of the Thalmor, True Nords Never Back Down
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 15:58:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14918418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalesOfErynGalen/pseuds/TalesOfErynGalen
Summary: Lilija Snow-Shod was next to a nobody. Outside of Riften, her family name meant nothing, but she left anyway, to lend her healing magics to the Stormcloak rebellion. An arrow later, and her world view is shattered, nothing more than fragments of morals and beliefs. Believed to be a dead woman, either on the headsman's block or shot down by Imperial archers, her fractured life is hers to do with as she will. To reinvent herself, break free from the girl who grew up in the City of Thieves - but she won't. Not while her homeland, while all of Tamriel, is up in flames, drenched in the blood of its people. Upon the precipice of change, she pauses, unsure. How can a simple, noble-born healer save the world?By becoming a hero.





	The World Spun Around Her

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! My plans for this story involve a lot of planning and definitely longer chapters, but here's the first I've written because I lack self-control. Sorry that it's so short. More will be up soon. Hopefully.

The fog lifted slowly. Ralof could tell. The woman’s head rolled with the motion of the carriage atop a limp neck, but her eyes occasionally flickered. The longer he watched her, anxious but unwilling to intervene in the case that he frightened her, the more frequently her eyelids shifted, her face creasing in discomfort.

He glanced worriedly at Ulfric. Although his Jarl’s mouth was covered with the stench-ridden cloth the Imperials had dug up, the set of his face was obvious. Their young healer had taken a brutal hit in the ambush, nearly a week ago. If she hadn't woken yet…

Perhaps it was for the best. 

He looked back at his shield-sister. She was so much smaller, laying limp and boneless in a cart, bound for her own execution without even knowing. She had been an inspiring sight in the camps - an adept mage with a penchant for restoration, fitted in custom robes that bore strong enchantments and the sigil of Windhelm. The Imperials hadn't even allowed her to go to her death in armored dignity, too afraid that the enchantments would give her enough of a boost to escape - now she wore a simple, ragged canvas shift someone had dug out of somewhere, her robes abandoned on the side of the road.

He half hoped she wouldn't wake up in time. Wouldn't be made to see her brothers and sisters go to the block, see her Jarl die as a traitor...see the bloodied ground below the block as she was pushed down. Gods, he  _ hoped… _

The muscles in her neck suddenly tensed. Her head shot up, wild green eyes raking the carriage and the wilderness beyond. On instinct, Ralof tried to reach out to comfort her, but only managed to brush her knee with his bound hands.

“Hey, hey now...calm down. You're finally awake, then?”  _ Don't. Lay back again and fall unconscious.  _ The mage’s wide gaze fell vaguely onto his face, still far too scattered to be called attention. Nevertheless, she nodded, tugging listlessly against her binds. Ralof’s heart fell, but he shoved it aside. “Good. You’re Lilija, right? The healer? We were afraid we lost you. That damned horse…”

“Lilija...yes, right. And you...should I…?” Her eyes focused a slight bit more, training on Ralof’s face with a single minded intensity that, frankly, unnerved him deeply.

“Know me? No...I don't suppose you should. We only spoke once or twice. Usually after I managed to injure myself.” He offered the woman a dry grin. They were going to their deaths, but gods damn it, Lilija didn't seem to realize that yet. He wasn't going to say anything until he had to. “The name’s Ralof.”

“Nice to...meet you.” Lilija blinked hard, driving more of the haze from her eyes. She glanced down, sharply, and immediately froze. “Ralof...my hands…”

Fear was evident on her face as she struggled weakly against her bonds. Ralof leaned forward, catching her bound wrists between his own and drawing her closer. She was still too dazed to resist, though her breath slowed slightly as Ralof rested his forehead against hers.

“Breathe, sister. Calm. Yes, we've been captured. Don't worry. It'll be fine, Lilija. Just fine.” Slowly, the other Stormcloak relaxed, leaning heavily against her shield-brother.

“We will be fine.” The words were little more than a whisper as she looked down at her lap. “Robes.”

“What?”

“Where are my robes? They were from…someone important...” A hint of fearful tears had crept into her voice.  _ A family keepsake.  _ Ralof was familiar enough with this. A fair number of soldiers carried their father's sword, an heirloom locket or some reminder of home.

“It's fine, Lilija. Your robes were of fine make. Wherever they are, they are intact. They won't be difficult to find.” Curse the Empire. If he had to keep up this charade another moment, and hurt Lilija farther…

“I su-suppose you're right. I'll...I'll find them later. Blue. Like the pond below where mother and I sat. Cloth-of-gold...from Cyrodil, I think. A...bear? A bear. My satchel...lavender, honeycomb, dragon’s tongue...imp stool...wheat...”

The lilting tone of Lilija's voice as she wondered after her robes struck a chord within Ralof. He’d heard this same listless babble from a handful of soldiers before. Usually following a heavy blow to the head.

_ He caught sight of their camp’s healer through the chaos of blood and smoke. Lilija wove through combat like a wraith, sending out short bursts of flame from her palms. An Imperial fell before her - then another, in quick succession. The golden hide of a gilded stallion from Haafingar bore down on her, riderless and bloodied, and as an Imperial took him unawares, the last sight he had of Lilija was the front hooves of the great war horse crashing into her skull. _

“Oh, for the love of Mara! Will someone just  _ knock her out again _ ?” Ralof turned to the weasley thief that had been captured alongside the Stormcloaks, an angry retort on the tip of his tongue.

“Will  _ all  _ of you just  _ shut up back there? _ ” the carriage driver hadn't looked back at his charges, but his shoulders were tense and rigid. Ralof scowled.  _ Our last hours and they can't spare us even the dignity of speech. Talos take them all. _

“You,  _ thief, _ ” he spat out, glaring flatly at the now-indignant Imperial, “should be the one who we  _ knock out _ . If you hadn't tried to steal that horse-”

“If  _ I  _ hadn't - bullshit! I had that entirely under control! If you  _ nords  _ hadn't caused trouble, and didn't like to make such a  _ racket _ , I’d have been clear of Skyrim by now, and out of this gods-damned civil massacre! This is  _ your  _ fault, you dull-witted, brawn for brains, arrogant piece of-”

“Say that again _! _ I _ dare  _ you _ ,  _ Imperial _ , say it _ .  _ I’m  _ the one in the wrong, because I fight for my homeland and my kin, for the freedom we are denied, and  _ you  _ are not because you can't keep your bony, unscarred fingers out of other people's pockets!  _ Say that I am less than you again,  _ you half bred skeever shit!”

Ralof barely heard the thief’s retort through the all consuming roar that fell over his ears. His vision shrank, locked on nothing else besides the thin, gaunt man beside him. His next words were belted out with force to equal Ulfric’s Thu’um, loud enough to wake the dead and knock the thief sideways in barely restrained fear. “If you weren't a rotten criminal, perhaps we would have stood a chance! Maybe we wouldn't be  _ sentenced to death!” _

“Wha… Ralof, what do you…”

The small, trembling voice pulled him back from the brink of rage, enough to recognize the bows now trained on him, and the terrified young mage who had now curled in on herself the best she was able. Tears had already brimmed in her eyes and begun to spill.

_ That...isn’t like her. By the Nine, the woman could browbeat a rabid bear into taking the nastiest potion she mixed up… _

“We're going to...to die? You didn't - you should have - oh, gods -” She took a deep, shuddering breath. Ralof watched in pity, warily tracing her movements. Complete silence, stretched taut like a canvas, hanging in the muggy air. She went still, even more tears welling out of her eyes…

And she let out a long, drawn out, ear-splitting scream.

Practically every soul in the caravan of prisoners twisted to see Lilija, to see her thrash desperately against her bonds. I've engulfed her hands, up to her elbows, and then fire, lightning, pure light - an endless, unpredictable cycle, wrecking the ropes she'd been tied with. Ralof found himself leaning away, frozen to his core as Lilija threw her head back, eyes glowing golden. The stretch of a bowstring sounded somewhere behind the carriage, and a split second later an arrow sank deep into the young woman’s chest.

Her magic flickered and died, her body ragdolling to the side with her eyes wide and glassed over.

“By the gods… I’ve never seen such a thing. Her eyes…”

“It doesn't matter now.” Ralof barely glanced at General Tullius, the high and mighty general having ridden to the back of the caravan when Lilija’s screams started. “Magic is volatile when the mage is compromised. We all know this. Hadvar! Take the body to Falkreath for a burial, and track down the girl’s family.”

“Yes, General.” One of the soldiers who’d been riding riding behind the carriage - the one who shot Lilija? - slid out of his horse’s saddle and approached as the caravan drew to a stop. Ralof sneered as the cart driver stood and collected Lilija’s body. Imperial dogs. Too embroiled in their training, in what their elven masters wanted - the kind of oppressing, unfeeling  _ husks  _ of Nords that would shoot someone so young, a toughened, respectable daughter of Skyrim because she was disoriented and confused after an injury  _ they  _ had caused. The words, the accusations, burned in the back of his throat, but he couldn’t force them out at the sight of the mage’s body sagging as she was carelessly hauled over the side of the cart to the waiting soldier.

“Meet us back in Helgen after. Unfortunately,” Tullius’ eyes slid towards Ulfric, who glared back in a dampened fury.  _ Divines, Lilija was one of his inner circle. He must be distraught.  _ “I think you’ll miss the highlight of the evening. Skirt around Helgen as best you can. I don’t want rumors flying about disrespecting the dead, senseless murders, or ‘desecrating corpses.’ Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” The soldier - truly the Hadvar Ralof had known as a boy, now that he stood close enough - nodded sharply and spun on his heel, only slightly hindered by the corpse he carried. Ralof spat after him, his words finally breaking free.

“Bastards! I hope you all  _ rot  _ in Oblivion! You’re murderers! Sovngarde and Shor’s Hall are no place for your ilk.” He glared, staring eye to eye with Tullius when he looked away from his old friend. Ulfric made an affirmative grunt.

Without any further words, the caravan moved on. Wooden wheels bumed over stone, carrying them slowly but surely towards the town now just visible down the road, but every prisoner kept their eyes on Hadvar’s retreating back, with Lilija laid on her stomach across the horse’s haunches. When the carriage moved across the gates of Helgen, blocking them from sight, Ralof sighed and turned to look towards the end.

“May we meet again in Sovngarde, Lilija Snow-Shod. Very soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> As you may have guessed, feedback is MORE than appreciated.


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